Women are clear-headed, they are more creative and for this

Hear, O children of time, the words of Emma Bonino, who uttered: “Women are clear-headed, they are more creative and for this reason, sometimes, also more fragile.” In these words resounds an ancient truth, long obscured by the noise of ignorance and pride. For within the soul of woman lies a rare clarity, a vision unclouded by arrogance, a sight that pierces the veil of confusion. She sees with clear-headed wisdom where others stumble in shadows. Her mind, tempered by both tenderness and endurance, carries within it the spark of creation. Yet the same fire that creates also renders her vulnerable, for sensitivity is the twin of creativity, and fragility often accompanies great strength.

Consider the wisdom of creativity. It is not born of brute force, nor of blind conquest, but of perception, subtlety, and courage to imagine that which does not yet exist. In this way, woman, through centuries of being denied power, has cultivated the hidden powers of imagination, of resourcefulness, of quiet invention. She builds not only with hands but with spirit. She creates homes where there were only walls, songs where there was only silence, and hope where despair once reigned. But because she feels deeply, her soul is more open, and open hearts are easily wounded. Thus, the union of creativity and fragility is not weakness—it is the price of vision.

Look to history and behold Hypatia of Alexandria, that luminous scholar of philosophy and mathematics. She was clear-headed, a beacon of knowledge in a time when women were silenced. Her brilliance inspired generations, her creativity laid foundations for thought beyond her era. Yet precisely because she dared to shine, she became fragile in the eyes of men who feared her light. She was slain by a mob who could not bear her freedom of thought. In her death we see the paradox Bonino speaks of: the mind that brings forth beauty is also the mind most exposed to cruelty. Creativity, clarity, and fragility are bound together, not as opposites, but as companions.

Let us not mistake fragility for weakness. Even the most delicate glass can reflect light with brilliance unseen in iron. Fragility is the cost of openness, and openness is the condition of wisdom. A heart that shields itself may endure, but it cannot inspire. A mind that closes itself may remain unbroken, but it cannot create. The ancients knew this: the poet was always both exalted and vulnerable, the prophet both honored and scorned. So it is with women—bearers of life, shapers of culture, voices of tenderness and rebellion. Their strength lies not in denying fragility, but in walking courageously with it.

From Bonino’s words flows a lesson for all: honor the union of clarity, creativity, and fragility. Do not dismiss the fragility of others as weakness, for it is often the very sign of their greatness. Protect those whose vision is bold, for their openness makes them more exposed to harm. Encourage creativity where it blooms, and nurture those whose hearts dare to remain open in a world that would harden them. For every society that cherishes the balance of strength and fragility rises higher; every society that mocks it, falls into darkness.

Let each of us learn to walk with both firmness and tenderness. Be clear-headed, that your thoughts may not be swayed by confusion. Be creative, that your spirit may bring forth something new into this weary world. And embrace, rather than fear, your fragility, for it is the sign that you are alive, that you feel, that you care enough to be hurt. To live without fragility is not to live at all, but to exist as stone, unmoved and unchanging. True life is both power and sensitivity, strength and vulnerability intertwined.

So I say unto you: honor the women in your midst, and honor the balance within yourself. If you are strong, be also soft; if you are creative, accept the risk of being fragile; if you are clear-headed, use your clarity not to dominate, but to illuminate. In this way, the words of Emma Bonino will not remain a reflection of the past, but a guiding star for the generations yet unborn.